by Margaret Way
You shouldn’t have kissed her. No excuses.
He could only cite a sudden storm of desire. That was the reality of it.
There was a ten-year gap between Ms Nyree Allcott and himself. He had packed a lot of living into those ten years, whereas—let’s face it—she wasn’t all that long out of the classroom.
You shouldn’t have kissed her, his inner voice repeated.
Except she had an aura unlike any other young woman he had ever met.
“So you’re serious about staying up here?” he said, glancing over to where she was standing.
Was she? Great-Uncle Howard’s legacy offered her independence.
Take him up on the offer. Nyree’s voice of caution spoke up. You can’t stay here by yourself. It’s too isolated. Too lonely. It’s probably haunted. And it’s falling down.
“I am serious about staying, Mr Hollister—” The decision was made.
He broke in, an edge to his tone. “If you call me Mr Hollister again, I’ll throw all caution to the wind and kiss you again.”
Her heart shook. “No way!” She was weak under the bravado.
“Better think again.”
Her chaotic feelings were making her so nervous. The ambivalence! He fascinated her—irritating her one minute, seducing her the next. “I am staying—Brant.” She didn’t think of it as caving in. More as good common sense. “You can’t know what owning a house of my own feels like. I’m going to fix this place up.”
She gazed about her, ignoring all the horrendous things. The rooms were big and light and airy. The hallway ran from back to front, which would allow every available breeze to flow through the house. The woodwork appeared to be in reasonably good condition, although the parquet of the entrance hall was severely damaged in places. The ceilings were ornately plastered. There were rather elaborate architraves and moulded cornices. A chandelier that once would have been splendid was dark grey, caked with dust.
“Howie leave you a fortune, did he?” he was asking sardonically.
“How do you know he didn’t keep his money under the bed?” she retorted, not about to tell him of Miss Em’s additional legacy. “But then, I suppose you checked?”
“God forbid! You do rave on, don’t you?”
She dropped her eyes, so he wouldn’t see her flurry of emotions. “Only with some people.”
“Let’s keep moving.”
When she could catch her breath. Why had he kissed her? To dominate her? Subdue her? Exploit her? God, she wanted to hit him. This man was a threat to her. She wasn’t going to allow him to jeopardise her chances of making a good life for herself here in this magical place. Her own private wild kingdom.
She realised she would have to fight hard. He was enormously charismatic, and far too rich. His sexual aura alone exerted a powerful grip. It was a terrible thing for a man to be so sexy. The merest physical contact caused considerable emotional turbulence. She was still pumping adrenalin.
Best to hate him, she decided. In a light-hearted kind of way. So much safer.
See you stick to it! said the voice in her head.
CHAPTER FOUR
THEY couldn’t find the cat when it was time to leave, so Nyree left a bowl of long-life milk and another of dry cat food. She had found them in the pantry. At least Great-Uncle Howie had been feeding his cat.
It wasn’t until they were well on their way back into town that she remembered the paintings. “What happened to Howie’s paintings?” She sounded so suspicious it was as if Brant might have been responsible for spiriting them away.
“Search me!” He flicked her a glance. “You might ask his Number One girlfriend. He had an entourage. But Dolly led the pack. Dolly Dryer. She’s quite a character, is Dolly. She owns and runs the Hibiscus Hut. It’s a small but surprisingly good restaurant on the edge of town.”
“The plot thickens. I suppose she fed Howie occasionally, or he would have died a whole lot sooner. But Dolly? What sort of name is that? I only know of Dolly Parton.”
“I’m not sure what Dolly is short for,” he said lazily. “Maybe it’s not short for anything.”
“What the heck was Great-Uncle Howie?” Nyree asked. “All these women. He sounds like a sultan with his harem.”
“The Sultan of Hollister!” Brant gave an enigmatic laugh. “He would have been a very handsome man in his time. He was a great talker. Extremely well read. A cultured man. A lot going on under the surface, but he never spoke of it. Loneliness—guilt, possibly. Who knows? He was a great drinker, of course. Again a way of forgetting. He was forever falling off his stool at the pub. Mostly he did it as a joke. He liked to play the clown—which he most decidedly was not.”
“You sound as though you liked him?” She swung her head in surprise.
“I did. Very much when he was sober. The tragedy was Howard Allcott ruined his life. He had a real gift, but he was self-destructive. He rarely spoke about his family until very recently. We knew he had a brother who died years back. Then all of a sudden there was talk of a great-niece. Obviously you. He never kept in touch?”
She shook her head regretfully. “Harems were in. Great-nieces were out.”
“So your inheritance came right out of the blue?”
“Yes.” She stared out at the glorious blue sky with never a cloud. “I think blue is the right colour. Blue is for happiness.” His eyes were an extraordinary mix of blue and green—a genuine turquoise. “What happened to the furniture? Presumably there was more than we saw? At least at one stage. And the paintings, of course. Paintings first. I love paintings,” she exclaimed passionately.
He already knew to scrape the surface and see her passions run deep. “You could have stepped out of one yourself.” He knew his grandmother would be as intrigued as he was by her wonderfully paintable appearance, and her resemblance to the toga-clad young woman in the Alma Tadema. Not to mention her connection to Howard Allcott, a figure from his grandmother’s past.
“No point in buttering me up, Mr Holl—I mean Brant.” Nyree fell back on a strict tone. “Great-Uncle Howard really did make you a promise he’d sell to you?”
There was a half-smile on his face. “Well, the project wouldn’t have gone up in smoke if he hadn’t—but, yes, he did.”
“So I’m in the way?”
“To an extent,” he agreed. “I should warn you Dolly had expectations too. We bought up all the other old farms.”
“Dolly did?” She swung her head, dismayed.
He nodded.
“Maybe he treated her badly, then?” Nyree started to worry.
“Never!” Brant shook his head emphatically, certain Dolly had taken the paintings off the wall. “The only person Howie treated badly was himself.”
“Thank God for that!” Nyree released a pent-up breath. “No doubt DHH offered a good price to the others?” She made it sound like a challenge.
“That goes without saying. We live here, young Nyree. We operate mostly in the North. Our reputation for fair dealing is very important to us.”
“I expected you to say that. This project, then, it must be enormous?”
“It will be big—and the best.”
“The biggest and the bestest! So, hypothetically speaking, where would you relocate me?” she asked sweetly.
“A stone’s throw away.” His reply was terse. “Then I can keep an eye on you.”
“But how extraordinary! I don’t need you to keep an eye on me.” Automatically she bridled. “Anyone would think you’ve appointed yourself my minder.”
“Well, you’re here with me now,” he countered. “You got in the car of your own free will. You’ve graciously consented to coming back to my house. You do need to keep me on-side.”
Her cheeks flushed. True. “Only because you own the town. And probably the whole damned district, plus a few of the offshore islands.”
“I’m afraid so,” he said, and laughed. “You don’t really want to go back there, do you, Nyree?”
Now his v
oice had sunk to the most beguiling level. “Don’t waste your valuable time trying to charm me. I’m determined to stay at the farm. You can help. You have legions in your employ. Get a few people in to help me clean the house. Groundsmen to take care of a fair section of the grounds. I promise you, you won’t know the place by the time I’m finished.”
He stretched out a hand to tap her shoulder. More sparks flew. “Well, you’d better finish before the cyclone hits,” he warned. “You saw the state of the roof.”
“So? It can be repaired.” Roof? Cyclone? That was demoralising.
“Certainly. But you’ll be in thrall to the workmen for a very long time.”
Nyree swallowed. “You’re not really expecting a cyclone. Are you?”
“Matter of fact, we are. We haven’t had a good one in quite a while. We’re about due. They go in cycles.”
“I didn’t know there was a good cyclone,” she said. “You’re just trying to frighten me.”
His eyes gleamed. “Be afraid. Be very afraid, young Nyree,” he mocked. “Though I guess it’s useless trying to frighten feisty ole you. I am, however, giving you the facts. Tropical cyclones are a fact of life. The cyclone season is coming up. Sometimes the anticipation of one can be unbearable. The humidity and the heat. You’ve heard of going troppo? It happens. The electrical storms alone would be enough to make you jump out of your skin.”
“We do have them in Brisbane,” she pointed out loftily. “Anyway, I’m not the type to hide under the bed in a storm.”
“Our storms are a whole lot meaner,” he said. “Remember you’ve crossed the Tropic of Capricorn. I’d hate to think of you alone at the farm.”
“Now, that’s a comfort! Don’t think I don’t appreciate it. Are you going to ring ahead to let your grandmother know you’re bringing me back with you? I don’t really rate as a guest.”
The smile was seductive. “My dear Ms Allcott, I’ll ensure they run out the red carpet. But first I’m going to feed you.” He slanted a glance over her petite frame. “You must be hungry. I just hope you’re not anorexic.”
“That’s ridiculous. I eat well. I don’t look anorexic, do I?” Once more she was trapped into begging a response.
“Just joking. Actually, you glow with health.”
“I got lucky! A compliment.”
Then he spoilt it. “It’s not all good. You must have hollow legs, because you’re no weight at all. I hope you’re hungry?”
“I think I can swallow something,” she said, turning her face away. “And I really want to meet Great-Uncle Howie’s paramour. She must be a good age?”
“Sex appeal is ageless,” he said. “Didn’t you know?”
“I haven’t exactly seen too many sexy septuagenarians,’ she said, from the lofty plateau of her nineteen years.
“I’m not sure you understand what sexy means. It doesn’t just mean being young and gorgeous.” He aimed a brilliant glance at her.
“You can’t mean me!” She offered a laughing disclaimer. “Not the gorgeous bit, anyway. My grandmother couldn’t abide my looks.”
So she had grown up totally without vanity? “I do mean you,” he clipped off. She wasn’t fishing for a compliment. At some stage young Nyree Allcott’s life must have been hell.
“Well, I know I don’t look ordinary” she amended, surprised by his sharpened tone. “No more than you do. My father and mother thought I was the most beautiful child in the whole wide world. I’m just saying my grandmother as good as threw me out of the house largely because of my looks. I’m the image of my mother.”
Brant couldn’t control a hot flash of anger at this grandmother. “And this is bad?”
She turned her head. “I don’t want to talk about it. My grandmother adored her only son. She hated the woman he married.”
“Now, that, Nyree, is seriously sick!’
“It happens.” She shrugged. “I didn’t take after my father. I’m my mother.”
“Then you’re a very lucky girl. I wouldn’t worry myself with anything your grandmother might have thought or said in the past, Nyree. I’m only glad you got lucky with Miss Em. What was the Em short for again? Don’t tell me—Emilia?”
“She wanted me to call her that, but I thought it wasn’t respectful enough. I hit on Miss Em and we left it at that.”
“So Miss Em’s gain was your grandmother’s loss?”
“Bitterness defined my grandmother,” Nyree said, her voice full of sad regret. “Nothing I ever did pleased her. I was much better off at boarding school. Afterwards Miss Em took me in. I miss her terribly.”
“Of course you do,” he said. “But all the good times will return, and you have the happy memories. The love you felt for Miss Em will survive.”
Nyree couldn’t reply. She was afraid of bursting into tears. Nevertheless a wave of comfort swept her. Sometimes he could say the right thing!
There was a single parking spot right outside the Hibiscus Hut. He nosed the big Mercedes into it and then turned off the ignition. Nyree put her hand to her rioting hair. “I’d like to freshen up first. I can’t have a skerrick of lipstick left.” She flashed him a glance that clearly allotted him the blame.
“Do you really need it?” Her full mouth was beautiful, a natural rose.
“Of course I do. Men didn’t know anything about anything. Without a bit of make-up I really do look like a kid.”
“But a very pretty one. The powder room is at the rear. To the left. I’ll organise a table. See if Dolly is in today.”
From the outside the Hibiscus Hut looked amazingly attractive. A beautifully designed retractable awning in a deep emerald and white striped canvas stretched out over the footpath and offered shade. To either side of the glass-doored entrance glazed green pots with a magnificent display of orchids spilling out of them were ranged.
Inside, the air-conditioning came as a welcome relief from the humid heat. Dolly, if she had done the decorating herself, had a real eye for style. The palette she had selected suited the tropical North perfectly: lime, aqua, turquoise, plenty of white. The glass-topped tables were surrounded by finely woven rattan chairs, with the fabric on the cushions picking up the colour scheme. But what took Nyree’s attention after an initial sweeping glance were the beautiful paintings hanging on the wall. Paintings she immediately fell in love with.
Fiercely she clutched Brant’s arm. “You have to believe me—I’m a bit psychic—but I know some of those paintings are Great-Uncle Howie’s work.”
He took her hand and held it tight. “I can’t claim to be psychic, Nyree, not even a bit but, yes, a good few are Howie’s work. They stand out. Dolly probably took them for safekeeping.” Like hell she did, he thought, knowing he would have to do something about it.
“And put them up on her wall?” Her eyes had gone huge.
“It looks that way. Go tidy yourself up. I’ll see if she’s here.”
She frowned at him and snatched away her hand. “Only my hair isn’t tidy,” she pointed out angrily, then stalked off. He wasn’t some older cousin she had hero-worshipped since childhood. Hero-worship meant some lack in oneself. He was Brant Hollister. The enemy.
And don’t you forget it!
Gosh, she was lucky to have that voice in her head.
In the well-appointed powder room she combed her hair, then arranged it in the classic knot that suited her to a tee. Several splashes of cold water on her face, then a touch of lipgloss. Staring into the mirror, she realised she looked good. Full of a lust for life! This really was an adventure. It was exciting, but a bit of a torture to know she would be seeing a lot of Brant Hollister. Under different circumstances she would have liked to have him on-side as a good and powerful friend. Heck, it was even looking that way right now.
When she returned to the main room she saw him standing in conversation with a tall, striking brunette, a little on the lush side. A silky waterfall of hair spilled down her back. Nyree couldn’t yet see the colour of her eyes, but the young w
oman was immaculately dressed in a white linen sleeveless shirt and skirt.
Their conversation appeared so intent the voice in her head started up again: Maybe they’re madly in love with each other?
Oh, shut up. Very oddly, some of her confidence evaporated.
But you know nothing about him. He’s much older than you. An experienced man of the world. He’s probably had dozens of women by now. She looks like she’s known him her whole life.
She did. It was there in the body language. Now the woman’s hand, wrist encircled by two splendid gold bracelets, had moved to his arm, clung.
Don’t interrupt them.
Why not?
Just a word of warning.
She couldn’t hang around there. Other diners had broken off their murmured conversations to look up and smile at her. At the same time they were taking her in. Very likely wondering who she was. She had come in with Brant Hollister. That alone would ensure attention. Still, the locals seemed a friendly lot.
Nyree threaded her way to Brant Hollister’s side, conscious her outfit was way too casual, especially if seen beside the statuesque brunette’s. Of course he would be attracted to a tall woman—not a pint-sizer like her.
“Ah, Nyree. There you are!”
Sure enough, he extended his arm fully to shepherd her in.
The brunette turned about with a practised smile on her face. Nyree, intuitive to the nth degree, saw she had to fight to keep it in place.
She hates you on sight. Not good, Nyree girl.
Brant made introductions, his tone suggesting Nyree might well be a visiting relative of whom he was fond.
Lana Bennett scrutinised her closely. Tip to foot. “So here you are!” she exclaimed brightly, for all the change that had overtaken her expression. Up close she was even more attractive, with fine poreless skin, even features, and marked black brows over light blue eyes. “We’d just about ruled out the possibility your great-uncle had any family to speak of.”
